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would happen when I was alone—at home—in bed with nothing but my dark thoughts to keep me company? I could control those thoughts during the day, when I was busy, but I feared those moments of complete depression and utter humiliation at night, when my solitude would result in obsession and isolation, and all the questions and fears would come circling back. There was no doubt about the fact that, sooner or later, Jett would want to see me, if only to demand an explanation for my sudden disappearance and my avoidance of him—not because he cared, but because of his gigantic ego. I feared the moment when he’d appear in front of Sylvie’s door. What if I wasn’t strong enough to resist him? What if his words drew me back to him, because I was still not over him, and I allowed him to deceive me all over again?
    I shuddered at the thought.
    That can never happen, Stewart.
    Never.
    He had broken my heart in so many places I’d never be complete again. My heart still ached, and the image of them kissing would be forever etched in my mind. For the sake of my sanity, I had to stay away from him—if only I knew how.
    Believing lies was easy when the truth was too painful to accept.
    My hands itched to switch on my cell phone, because a part of me just didn’t want to give up hope. I longed to hear Jett’s voice, and yet another part of me wanted to make his life a living hell for destroying us and everything I had believed in.
    The thought of taking him back after his betrayal enraged me so much that I quickened my pace, as if there was some slight possibility that I could outrun my own masochistic urges and stop hurting myself. Whatever his intentions, Jett was not good for me. Staying with him and allowing him to deceive me. Even seeing him again wouldn’t be good for my mental health. It would all be too tempting to recount the positive times and forget about the bad ones; I’d foolishly forgive his cheating while allowing one excuse after another until my confidence would die like a frog in a boiling pot.
    Somewhere in the distance, a bird screeched, and I couldn’t help but think of Grayson’s words about nightingales and the need to find one’s path. For me, that path was just beginning.
    Wrapping my coat tighter around me, I hurried to get to my destination.
    The street was dark and eerily quiet. Police sirens echoed in the distance, and then the silence resumed. I rounded the corner. Ahead was the familiar five-story building. Other than a little light coming from a window on the second floor, all apartments were bathed in darkness. Reaching the front door, I tried to push the key into the lock when it slipped out of my cold hand and dropped to the ground, the sound unnaturally loud in the quietness. I winced. For a second, I had the image of someone opening a window and telling me to shut up, but no one stirred. As I bent down to recover the keys, I heard a different sound. Soft, thudding steps carried over from my right, and for a brief moment I caught a flash of movement, from the periphery of my vision.
    Someone was following me.
    My heart almost stopped in my chest, then picked up with incredible speed. The hairs on my arms rose. I turned my head, panic rising inside me, and peered around me. I had been so absorbed in my thoughts about the future that it hadn’t occurred to me that someone might be following or watching me. Not once had I bothered to look behind me.
    Talk about being careless.
    It was New York City—not exactly the safest place in the world at night. Pressing my handbag against my chest, I scanned the dark street again, ready to scream my lungs out of my chest if need be, but there was no one. The realization that I was overreacting didn’t manage to calm me.
    With shaky hands, I quickly snatched the key off the ground and let myself into the building, then slammed the door behind me. My breath came shallow and fast as I strained to listen for any sounds. Except for the wind swirling